


Like a Bad Dog

by fudgelingzwodder



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Earthborn (Mass Effect), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Relationship, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Renegade as in angry and not good at politics but not an asshole to the crew, Renegon (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28902963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgelingzwodder/pseuds/fudgelingzwodder
Summary: "There are days when Shepard wakes up and thinks she’s going to open her mouth and start screaming and never stop. Wonders what anyone would do if she did. She would probably give Chambers a heart attack."Shepard has always been guarded, but she can't keep it up all the time.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Female Shepard/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Garrus Vakarian/Tali'Zorah nar Rayya
Kudos: 28





	Like a Bad Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the events of Mass Effect 2. Title is from Cop Car by Mitski, which I looped while writing this and sums up how I feel about my Renegade Shepard. 
> 
> CW for implied self harm.

There are days when Shepard wakes up and thinks she’s going to open her mouth and start screaming and never stop. Wonders what anyone would do if she did. She would probably give Chambers a heart attack. The yeoman’s been jumpy ever since she let it slip that she doubled as a psych and was making reports to the Illusive Man. Shepard didn’t take kindly to that. Miranda had given her a talking to after the fact, but she still isn’t sorry. Her mental state isn’t anyone's business but her own.

Point being, if she starts screaming at 4:30 in the morning, Chambers will definitely try to give her some sort of evaluation, and she’s too tired for that shit. She heaves herself out of bed, scowling at the stains visible on the dark sheets. Throwing her sweaty tank top in the general direction of the couch, she kicks her sweatpants off on the way to the bathroom. Her upper arms and shoulders sting from where she's clawed at them, and she forces her hands to unclench.

A cold shower helps snap her back to herself, even if she’s shivering by the end of it. She towels off roughly, grabbing for the first pieces of clothing she touches. Clad in a worn N7 hoodie and a thick pair of leggings, she heads for the elevator. Shepard knows by now that she won’t be able to sleep again. She might as well go make herself useful.

She moves quietly through the halls, aware that most of the crew would still be asleep. Even the non-humans tended to follow the 24 hour cycle that most of the crew adhered to, regardless of their internal clock. Waking anyone up now would just mean questions, and she really isn’t in the mood for questions. Thankfully, she has ample practice being a ghost on her own ship. She pulls her hood up, tucking her damp curls into the fabric as she rounds the corner to the mess hall. At a glance, maybe she could pass for one of the crew, not the infamous Commander Shepard.

She should’ve known she wouldn’t be so lucky. Shepard’s barely putting on a pot of coffee when she hears the door to the main battery slide open, and she stifles a sigh. Not the worst person that could see her like this, but not the best. She keeps her back to the hall, pretending not to hear. Staring into the carafe as it fills slowly, she wills Garrus to keep walking, to not realize she’s there, something. But, of course, he notices. He pauses, and though she doesn’t look over she can practically hear him blinking in confusion.

“Shepard?” 

The word hovers on the border between greeting and question, so she decides to take it as the former. Taking the easier way out isn’t something she’s known for, but she’s fucking tired.

“Garrus.” She lets herself sigh this time, exhaling loudly as she turns to face him. Shepard folds her arms, her shoulders hunched slightly, drawing into herself. It’s a pretty clear broadcast of ‘go away’, but maybe body language is different for turians, because Garrus seems unfazed. He tilts his head slightly, a motion she might’ve missed if she didn’t know him so well. She stares him down, holding herself tighter. She doesn’t know what he sees in her, but he softens after a moment.

“Hey, are you--”

“Don’t,” she snaps, not intending to speak until she already has. Shepard looks away, digging her hands into her arms. She _hates_ that, hates the pity in his voice. She’s not one to be pitied. She’s Commander fucking Shepard, she doesn’t need _pity_. She turns abruptly, staring back at the coffee maker as her eyes start to burn. She hears Garrus moving behind her and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for him to leave.

He doesn’t, though. Shepard keeps her eyes shut, but she can hear the cabinets opening and closing. Can sense Garrus coming up beside her before something nudges her elbow. 

“Here.” His voice is still quiet, but not as soft as before. It’s the lack of gentleness that makes her finally open her eyes. Her favorite mug is by her side, a tacky red piece of junk from one of the Citadel tourist shops. It’s ugly as sin, and Joker had threatened to throw it off the ship when she bought it. She loves it even more than her model ships. 

Eyes narrowed, she looks over at Garrus from underneath her hood. What was his goal here? What did he have to gain? On a good day, she would understand the logic of her crew wanting their commander to be alright. She might even understand that Garrus was one of her friends, not just someone under her command. This isn’t a good day.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Subtlety has never been her strong suit. She’s known for being blunt to a fault. Most people she meets chalk it up to her being an asshole, not realizing that it’s purely a lack of social awareness. Not even a lack so much as a complete disregard. She doesn’t see the point in beating around the bush. It’s what makes her such a terrible politician. 

Garrus eyes her, mandibles flaring as he lets out a small laugh. “This is being ‘so nice’? I think you need to raise your standards, Shepard. You’re making a drink, I handed you a mug. That's basic decency.” 

Her scowl deepens, but he has a point. She’s being prickly, and she knows it isn’t fair, but she can’t help it. She still doesn’t think she can open her mouth without saying something nasty, though, so she takes the mug without saying a word. Bits of the design on the exterior are starting to flake off, and she scratches idly at the chipping paint while the coffee percolates. Her eyes stay trained on the mug, but she keeps an ear on Garrus. He continues to shuffle around the kitchen, clinking something around before the whirring of the microwave starts up. Shepard pours her own coffee, dousing it with cream and sugar until it’s sickly sweet. It’s not how she usually takes it, black as tar and twice as bitter, but this is more about something warm and comforting than a caffeine kick. 

Shepard sits down strategically, folding herself into the corner so that she can see the whole room. It’s childish, she knows, but she tucks her feet on the edge of her seat to pull her knees up against her chest. With her hood up and her chin resting on her knees, she feels safer. Less exposed. It gives her a vantage point to watch Garrus, too.

He doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to her. Some kind of dextro food is heating up in the microwave, and Garrus is puttering around the kitchen while he waits. Shepard watches him through the narrow gap between her knees and the rim of her hood, but her shoulders slowly lower from up around her ears. The microwave beeps, and he grabs his tray, but he doesn’t sit next to her. He comes to her table, yes, but he leaves some space between them. It takes her a moment to notice that Garrus has placed himself between her and the open space of the rest of the ship, his body perpendicular to hers so he’s facing outwards. Keeping watch. Shepard lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Neither of them speak. Garrus eats. Shepard pulls her sleeves down over her hands to hold her hot mug. Garrus pauses to tap something on his omnitool, and she bristles. It’s not about her. It’s probably not about her, why would he be sending a message about her at 5 AM? That’s just the paranoia talking. She repeats it to herself until she half believes it, clenching and unclenching her jaw. When she can finally inhale without the air sticking in her throat, she starts sipping. Her mug is half empty when she speaks.

“Why--” Shepard’s voice is raspy, barely above a whisper, and she clears her throat before trying again. “Why are you awake?”

“Turian thing.” To his credit, Garrus barely glances at her. She can’t handle staring right now. He doesn’t make a smart remark like he usually would, either. “We don’t usually sleep as long as humans do in one sitting. I’ve mostly gotten used to it, but…” He shrugs as he trails off, and Shepard knows what he means.

She hums in acknowledgement, setting her mug down on the table. The clack it makes is quiet, but she flinches all the same. Damn it. She grips her elbows instead, pressing her forehead into her knees. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She’s Commander Shepard, and she’s not going to cry in the mess hall of her own ship. Especially not in front of one of her crewmates.

A small, traitorous part of her mind scoffs at her thinking of Garrus as merely a crewmate, but she smothers it hard. No matter what he was, she still wasn’t fucking crying in front of him. The turian in question glances over at her, but she shakes her head before he can say anything. 

She doesn’t know how long they sit like that—her bristling and tense, Garrus keeping watch—but her head jerks up when footsteps echo from the elevator. It’s none other than Tali, who’s dragging her feet and stretching in a way that indicates she just got up. 

“Good morning, Shepard,” Tali yawns, fumbling with the dextro coffeemaker and grabbing herself an ‘emergency induction port’. “Garrus.” 

Her accent is more pronounced when she’s tired, words dragging slow and thick even with the translator, and Shepard smiles without thinking about it. Her smile fades when she realizes that Garrus doesn’t seem surprised that she’s here. He nods in Tali’s direction, but otherwise hasn’t reacted at all to her sudden arrival. She thinks back to him tapping at his omnitool and feels a sudden rush of betrayal. She was right, he had messaged Tali, they’d been talking about her behind her back and if they were talking about this then what else did they talk about, who else was talking about her—

Shepard feels her breathing speeding up without her permission, fists clenching the fabric of her hoodie near her elbows. On a good day, she would roll her eyes at them and bitch about not needing to be looked after. On a better day than this, she might scream and storm off. This is a bad day. Little vocalizations pour out of her mouth as she claws at her arms through her shirt and tries to remember how to breathe. 

Something warm presses into her side and Shepard recoils instinctively. She makes a warning sound in the back of her throat, biotics crackling, but the warmth doesn’t leave. Thin arms pull her into a hug, and she blinks. Tali has pressed herself firmly against her side, pulling her close. She’s still sitting with her knees up, like a child, but the quarian’s long arms encircle her regardless. She realizes suddenly that Tali is speaking, her voice soft close to her ear. 

“Hey, Shepard, it’s only me. It’s Tali’Zorah, and Garrus is nearby, and it’s just us. The year is 2185, and we’re on the Normandy SR2, in the mess hall.” Tali repeats it a few more times, rubbing Shepard’s upper arm as she rocks them both back and forth. Her instincts are screaming at her to run—this isn’t safe, she’s showing _weakness_ —but a larger part of her melts into Tali’s embrace. This is Tali. She knows that Tali is safe to be embraced by in the same bone-deep way she trusts Garrus to keep watch. 

When was the last time someone held her? Shepard genuinely doesn’t know. Tali’s presence and repeated words are helping, though. She blinks a few more times, trying to recall anything from Dr. Chakwas’s many lectures about grounding techniques. As her vision clears, she sees that Garrus is still seated near them. He looks wildly out of his element, a hand tentatively outstretched towards her, but he stays rooted to the spot. She laughs a little, a slightly-hysterical sound that breaks up her humming vocalizations. 

“Shepard?” Garrus and Tali speak in perfect unison, startling another breathless laugh out of her. Garrus’s mandibles flutter in concern, and he shoots Tali a helpless look. Tali, to her credit, appears unfazed. That may just be the helmet, though. 

“M’okay,” she manages. All of her anger withers in the wake of the panic attack as the adrenaline drains from her system. She’s used to them by now, but this one was building since she woke up. She’s so tired, and she trusts Garrus and Tali to keep their mouths shut. 

“Right, and I’m a Justicar,” Tali snorts, bumping the crown of her helmet against her shoulder. It’s an obvious attempt at levity, but Shepard wheezes another chuckle all the same. She uncurls slowly, straightening her legs and letting them hit the floor for the first time since she sat down. Her knees scream at her in protest, but with all of her ‘upgrades’ from Cerberus she knows it won’t last. 

Tali loosens her hold to let her move, but keeps an arm around her. She shoots Garrus a look, and he scoots closer in an attempt at subtlety. They’re both looking at her, and she clears her throat. 

“I just, um—“ She hates struggling for words. She’s the damn Commander, known for both her temper and her loyalty. Not for vulnerability like this. But Tali’s arm is still around her, and Garrus reaches across the table and takes one of her trembling hands in both of his own. She ducks her head, exhaling slowly. 

“It’s just been a bad night, y’know. And I—I’m sorry. For snapping at you.” Her voice is a whisper, barely louder than the humming lights above them, but she knows they hear her anyways. For her to apologize is rare, and to apologize over something as trivial as her attitude is even rarer. 

“You didn’t snap at us,” Tali points out. “Not even close. I’ve seen you snap at people, Shepard.”

“Yeah, remember the last time we saw Udina? That was snapping,” Garrus adds. His subvocals don’t match the lightness in his voice, but no one points it out. Shepard huffs, her free hand moving to scratch at the glowing scars across her cheek. Tali gently takes it instead, though, twining their fingers together. She’s dimly aware that it isn’t the first time they’ve held hands, and Tali has mastered threading her three fingers between Shepard’s five.

“I guess.” She clears her throat again, unable to meet their eyes. “Still, ’m sorry you had to deal with this. I’m fine, I’m just gonna go back to bed.” Not that she’ll be able to sleep, but in her quarters she’ll be alone. Shepard manages to keep her voice remarkably steady, all things considered, but she can practically feel Garrus and Tali exchanging another look.

“Shepard--” Garrus starts, his subvocals thrumming with something again, but Tali cuts him off.

“You aren’t something to ‘deal with’.” Tali squeezes her hand for emphasis, tone firm. “We care about you, you bosh’tet. I know you say you don’t need help, but we want to, whether you ‘need’ it or not. So let us once in a while.” Garrus doesn’t speak, but nods along, giving her other hand a gentler squeeze. 

The sentiment has Shepard’s eyes burning again. Part of her wants to get up and run, but the two of them have her comfortably boxed in. The other part wants to cry on Tali’s shoulder until the rest of the ship wakes up. She struggles to put together a response until Garrus speaks up, seeing the look on her face.

“You know we’ve got your back. We’re walking into hell with you, remember?” He gives her hands a final squeeze before letting go, sitting up straighter to give her some space. “I think you’ve got a few hours before the rest of the crew gets up, if you wanted to get some more sleep.”

Wanted, yes. Could achieve, probably not. Still, she stands and stretches as Tali scoots away from where she’d glued herself to her side.

“Yeah. I’ll see y’all in a few hours, then.” She stuffs her hands deep into her hoodie pocket, starting towards the elevator, but pauses when an arm links with hers.

“Nope!” Tali chirps, continuing their walk to the elevator and pulling Shepard along. “This sounds like the perfect time for one of those sleepovers humans talk about. Isn’t that right, Garrus?”

Garrus shakes his head fondly, stacking their dishes in the sink before falling into step behind them. “She’s been going on about sleepovers ever since Daniels mentioned them a month ago, Shepard. Afraid there’s no talking her out of it now.”

Shepard snorts despite herself. “I’m not really a sleepover expert. I don’t think I’ve ever had one.” Not like Daniels had likely described, anyways. Sleeping in the same room as a bunch of other kids in the Reds didn’t count.

“All the more reason to have one now,” Tali declares, sweeping them into the elevator. Garrus gives Shepard a look that says ‘I told you so’ as he hits the button for the top floor. She’s annoyed on a surface level about the idea of having them both in her space, but her heart isn’t pounding wildly for the first time since she woke up.

A thought hits her as the elevator doors open. “Uh, it’s kind of a mess up here--”

She doesn’t have time to continue before Tali is pulling her along into her quarters, wincing as she takes it in. Clothes are scattered haphazardly around the room, and the wet towel from her earlier shower is discarded on the floor with visible bloodstains. Fuck. Tali and Garrus don’t comment, though. Tali flops down hard on Shepard’s bed--with sweaty rumpled sheets, fuck--and pulls her down beside her. Garrus just chuckles, clearing a space for himself on the couch and settling in. At Tali’s scathing look, he shrugs.

“I wasn’t kidding about the turian sleep cycle. Besides, your bed isn’t exactly built for someone with a cowl. No offense,” he adds hastily, glancing at Shepard. 

She shrugs back at him in response. “None taken.”

“Well, it’s certainly comfortable for me,” Tali declares, flinging her limbs out and nearly smacking Shepard in the face. “You get all the good stuff, Shepard. Look at these pillows!” She throws one at Garrus, shoving another at Shepard’s chest as she grabs a third for herself. 

“They sure are pillows.” Garrus catches it easily, throwing it back and hitting her in the face. Well, faceplate. Shepard half-smiles, hugging the pillow to her chest and shifting onto her side to watch them both.

“Figures that turians would lack an appreciation for pillows,” Tali sniffs. She and Garrus dissolve into bickering about turian and quarian pillows, and Shepard’s eyes slowly close. She hovers on the edge of sleep, lulled by the familiarity of Garrus and Tali’s lighthearted banter. She curls in around the pillow clutched to her chest, and the last thing she feels before she drifts off to sleep is three gentle fingers carding through her curls.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been chipping away at this just for myself for a long time, and figured there must be people out there who love Shepard/Garrus/Tali as much as I do. You can't look at Tali and tell me she's straight, I refuse. (Garrus is unfortunately very straight though). 
> 
> I worry about this coming off as Shepard’s mood bouncing all over the place but this is heavily based on my own experience of being very mentally ill/neuroatypical sooo. Shrugs. 
> 
> May add to this series in the future! I know I'm very late to the party but I just beat Andromeda so I have Mass Effect on the brain. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
